


Transcript

by bigblueboxat221b



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Dreams, French Kissing, Gentle Kissing, Sleeptalking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-09
Updated: 2017-05-09
Packaged: 2018-10-29 22:41:31
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,078
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10863585
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bigblueboxat221b/pseuds/bigblueboxat221b
Summary: Sherlock finds the note John has left in his violin case...





	Transcript

**Author's Note:**

  * Translation into Français available: [Transcription](https://archiveofourown.org/works/10881663) by [AzorART](https://archiveofourown.org/users/AzorART/pseuds/AzorART)
  * Inspired by [I'd Like To...](https://archiveofourown.org/works/10143041) by [TheColdEastWind](https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheColdEastWind/pseuds/TheColdEastWind). 



> This is the second piece I've written in response to this amazing short work (reproduced here with permission). If you like it please go and leave some kudos over there too, I'd never have written this piece without that one!
> 
>  
> 
> Anyway, I'd thought of two possible stories behind the letter - the first was [ 'Suggestions' ](https://archiveofourown.org/works/10206446). This is shorter but with more of a twist.

_Letter from TheColdEastWind’s work, “I’d like to…”_

Dear Sherlock,

I...I would like to. I would really like to. I've wanted to for so long. Sometimes it's all I can think of how much I'd like to...just...you. And me. We. I'd like to. To slowly, over and over. I'd like to by the fire light. I'd like to on the table where we take our tea. Just softly. I'd like to. Just we. I'd like to. To gently...if you let me. Deeply. To just...mmmm. To hear it spoken softly. To say...to say...softly. I'd like to. I'd like to give...and take. To yes oh god yes. I'd like to. Would you. Would you like to?

 John Hamish Watson

 

+++

 “What is this?” Sherlock asked, reading the note he’d just found tucked inside his violin case.

John grinned at him. “It’s a transcript, Sherlock.”

“Transcript?” Sherlock repeated, looking a little wary. “Of what, exactly?”

“You slept last night on the couch.” John replied, amusement in his voice. “You talked in your sleep, a lot.”

Sherlock’s face flamed as he re-read the note. “And this is what I said?” he replied, his voice strained.

John nodded, crossing his arms as he sat back in his chair. “Some of it. You’d started before I came down for some water, but this is what I heard before you rolled over.”

Sherlock’s eyes were wide, his brain obviously working hard. John watched, fascinated, until the moment came, as it always did, like a jolt of electricity, stilling all his movements; the erotic little ‘oh!’ from his mouth as his brain fit all the pieces together, showing him the solution.

“Yeah, there were a few of those noises, too.” John noted, watching as Sherlock’s recollection of his dream changed his whole demeanour. His face flushed, arms crossed defensively, body turned away from John. Interesting. John’s eyebrows raised, and his smirk returned when Sherlock finally shot a furtive glance his way.

“I’m guessing you’ve remembered what your dream was about, then.” John remarked.

“Not exactly.” Sherlock replied. He was pacing now, slowly like a cat, avoiding John’s gaze. “I have made a list of likely topics, however.”

“A list? Must be an interesting list. Sounded like an interesting dream.” John said mildly.

“It is a very short list, John. Whether or not it is interesting is entirely subjective.”

“Oh, I’d find it very interesting, Sherlock.” John timed his move carefully, standing up just as Sherlock stepped close to his own chair. He gripped Sherlock’s arm and piloted him backwards into his own chair. Sherlock sat, eyes wide with surprise at John’s action. John looked down at him, arms by his sides now, one hand clenching and releasing several times. John’s gaze had captured Sherlock’s, and they stared at each other.

Sherlock finally stammered, “John? What…”

“I heard those words, Sherlock,” John murmured. He was not as tall as Sherlock, and was enjoying having the height advantage in this exchange. “I heard those words, and the printed letters on that page do not do them justice.” He gave a deep chuckle at the memory of that sound. “They were not spoken, Sherlock, they were moaned, and whispered, and begged, and whined. You were not speaking to someone, you were cajoling them, asking them, offering yourself.”

John watched in satisfaction as Sherlock gulped, his pupils dilated, hands gripping the arms of his chair tightly. John grinned at Sherlock’s discomfort, knowing its source and drawing out the delicious moments before the words were spoken.

“You were having a sex dream.” The words hung in the air, John’s tone confident. Sherlock nodded jerkily, his eyes not leaving John’s face.

John’s eyes swept over the familiar face, checking that the emotions flickering there were not inconsistent with his own conclusion. When he could be as sure as possible, John spoke. “I’m going to make a deduction.”

Sherlock swallowed. “Okay. Okay, that’s good.”

“And if my deduction is right, you’re going to be honest and tell me, all right?”

The curls bounced as Sherlock nodded silently.

John walked slowly around the back of the couch, placing his hands on Sherlock’s shoulders. As he leaned forward, bringing his mouth to Sherlock’s ear, John’s hands slid down Sherlock’s arms, feeling the shiver as it ran through the flesh beneath his palms. He smiled again, a confident gesture despite knowing Sherlock could not see him.

“The dream was about me.” John’s voice was loud in Sherlock’s ear, and the truth of the words thrust a breath of air from Sherlock’s lungs. His eyes were closed, John could see, head tilting to one side, presenting that long pale neck to John. A submissive action if ever there was one, John thought gleefully.

“Shall I make some guesses as to what we might have been doing to elicit such an…enthusiastic response?” John murmured as his mouth tasted down Sherlock’s exposed neck. He took the gasps from Sherlock’s mouth as a yes. “I’d say there was some kissing.” He started small. “Gentle kissing, exploring each other in front of the fire; mouths melted together, nothing else touching except perhaps our fingers entangled on your knee. Heated kissing, me climbing into your lap as our tongues get to know each other. I’ve climbed on your because I just can’t get close enough. Frantic kissing, pressed up against a wall, perhaps after a case finishes and we can’t even make it all the way into the flat, our hands roaming all over each other’s bodies as we catalogue the territory.” John paused, having kissed every inch of Sherlock’s throat. His hands were rubbing soothingly up and down Sherlock’s arms as his mouth wandered, feeling the pulse flutter under his tongue.

Without letting his hands leave Sherlock, John walked slowly around the chair, fingers trailing over his shoulders as he turned. John fit his knee between the side of the couch and Sherlock’s leg; one, then the other, until he was straddling the gasping man. Sherlock’s eyes opened as he felt John’s weight settle on his thighs. John’s hands rested on Sherlock’s chest now, the heat and thud of his heart reverberating through John’s palms. As their eyes met again, John smiled. It was a genuine smile, full of affection now that he knew for certain how Sherlock felt.

“The only thing left to ask,” John said quietly, “is, ‘Would you like to, Sherlock?'”

Sherlock opened his mouth and replied hoarsely, “I’d like to…”


End file.
